


dopamine

by stormysirens



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Endgame didn’t happen, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, It gets really sweet guys I promise, Mental Health Issues, Protective Steve Rogers, breakdowns, infinity war kind of did but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormysirens/pseuds/stormysirens
Summary: Sometimes life can get to be too much for you. Between school, work, and missions, it’s hard to find time to just sit and breathe. That’s okay, though. You have people like Steve to help guide you.- or in which becoming a burnout isn’t the only option with the help of the country’s golden boy. -





	dopamine

**Author's Note:**

> If I’m going to be completely honest this whole thing was more for me than anything else. I wrote it as a vent piece, something to use so that I could place my own problems on the Reader. It ended up becoming so cathartic that the whole process was more enjoyable than I could have ever anticipated. I know some things might not apply but hopefully it’s still something you might also enjoy reading!
> 
> (hey just an update: I have an Instagram now so you guys should follow me! I'm still in the midst of setting it up but, its @stormysirens)

You were exhausted. 

 

Exhausted wasn’t even the right word, it felt too light on the tongue for thoughts so heavy on the brain. There was too much pain, too much physical and mental drainage for it to be described by a simple three-syllable-term. The ache of living cut so deep that it didn’t settle in your bones or cause a tremor in your heart. You felt it all on the surface, pinpricking your skin and ringing in your ears. Your muscles were sore and your body was full of knots, sure, but those didn’t compare to all the migraines and chest aches that came with _everything else_. There was just so much - _too much_. 

 

And maybe the problem could be helped if you could just figure out where it started. 

 

It wasn’t anything to do with your childhood, that much you knew. Every superhero needed a tragic backstory but that fact didn’t seem to apply to you. You weren’t born an experiment or child-made-spy. That kind of stuff was reserved for your mom and dad, who somehow managed to procreate a ‘mutant/sorceress’ with the ability to read minds and make magic. Your parents didn’t force you into projects or missions _(thankfully)_ just made sure you knew how to use the powers you were born with so that living could be... _easier_. Sure it was stressful to be raised a child with adult powers, but your upbringing is what helped ease you into a - _somewhat_ \- regular life.

 

You’d like to blame it all on the life you lead now, but somehow that didn’t seem right either. You’d grown, gotten accepted into NYU, and even managed to gather a tiny bit of scholarship money along the way. Your parents proudly sent you off for four years to do...well that much you weren’t sure of yet.

 

And maybe therein lies the problem. 

 

Because despite coming from a loving home and being accepted into a highly acclaimed school, you didn’t have a plan for what came next. You took a gap year before attending, hoping to figure _something_ out, but that didn’t offer you anything other than lost motivation and time. It was frustrating - putting everything into a payoff that was next to nothing.

 

Things hadn’t even really changed until the attack on New York. You’d kept yourself and your powers off the grid, mainly for the sake of your parents but also for _you_. What would have been the point of concealing your powers for all this time only to blow cover over a fight that wasn’t necessarily your own? But there was just so much mass destruction and chaos and _fear_ that it was hard to sit back and ignore the terror going on around you. You had to help, you _did_ help. You’d acted as shield for some and as a weapon for others. While you had tried to keep it discrete it was all in vain. Because eventually Natasha Romanoff stumbled upon you and this led to where you were now - housed in Stark Towers with the other Avengers under an endless stream of “scholarship money” all on account of the sarcastic bastard himself. 

 

Somehow this wasn’t fulfilling enough, though. Don’t get it twisted, you appreciated everything Tony and the other’s offered you, but living was _such_ a struggle - a never ending hassle. This was never the life you bargained for. Sure, you only went on a few missions and school was still the priority, but as of lately those things didn’t seem to matter much. Nothing did. 

 

You were currently sat in your room surrounded by textbooks and notebooks and pencils - developing a serious headache due to the calculus homework before you. Then, just as it always seemed to, everything started to go wrong without you expecting it. Your vision blurred and your breathing quickened, a painful lump caught in back of your throat. Your muscles grew sore from the tension they held and your skin began to feel clammy thanks to a sudden wave of overwhelming heat. Your thoughts spun in your head so rapidly that you began to grow dizzy. Your heartbeat was so hard in your chest that you could feel it in your ears and toes. It wasn’t a panic attack. The sense of impending doom would’ve been stronger. 

 

But it was still _something_. 

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y can you turn up the air please?” you asked, voice hoarse from not having spoken all day. 

 

She addressed you with a simple yes before pausing to ask, “Should I alert Mister Stark of your vitals? It seems like you are on the verge of protocol ‘It’s Not A Heart Attack.’ He requested that should anyone begin experiencing symptoms-”

 

“It’s fine F.R.I.D.A.Y, don’t alert him of anything. I think I just need some fresh air. I’ll be okay,” you waved her away. 

 

You pushed yourself up from your place on the bed and stumbled for the door. The air felt electrifyingly cool on your skin since you were only clad in shorts and a tank top. Your bare feet padded down the fluorescently lit hallways and you found yourself in the upper level kitchen. 

 

With head pounding, heart shaking, and fingers trembling, you reached for the cupboards in hopes of making a cup of tea to calm your nerves. The kitchen was empty so the only noise bouncing off the bare walls was the clinking of mugs and the filling of a kettle. Everything settled for a moment. It was just you and your breathing and the tear of tea bag as you readied yourself for the whistling brought on by boiling water. 

 

But then you started to think - one thought filing in after the other. Too many occupants in a space that could only hold a few. It was all college, work, powers. Then there was depression, anxiety, exhaustion. Being on the verge of a breakdown didn’t feel like an endless spiral or an unrelenting riptide like everyone made it out to be. This was all cagey - like being stuck in an office with too many people and not enough exits. 

 

You tried to shake away the thoughts, to push back the nerves that made your movements wiry. You reached out to pour the boiling water into your cup and stir in the tea bag. You tried to settle on any thought other than the ones that ran laps around your head, but _god_ was it hard. Your grip on the mug tightened and before you could even register what was happening the glass collapsed in your hands. 

 

The scalding liquid spilled onto your feet and a few pieces of glass tore into your palm. 

 

“Shit!” you exclaimed, staring at the mess made before you. 

 

“Language,” the voice sounded so far, but you knew that its source was only standing in the kitchen’s entrance a few feet away.

 

It was teasing, an absentminded little call back to all those times Tony had nagged him about his old-fashioned attitude. You glanced up from the floor and found that you were right. There, in all his golden boy glory, was Captain Steve Rogers with a grin on his lips, a phone in his hand, and his gaze on the screen. 

 

Any other time the interaction would have been playful, endearing even, but given the circumstances you weren’t exactly in the mood for games. You kept going back and forth between the calamity you created and Steve who hung back lazily by the door. It was all so detached. The only thing that brought you back to your senses was the warm blood that ran down your forearms and fell onto the floor that was slippery with spilt tea. 

 

“Rogers.”

 

“Mm?”

 

His gaze was still on the phone, but you blamed that on the lack of urgency in your tone.

 

“Hey Cap?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He was just as consumed by whatever that damned device displayed. 

 

You took in a deep breath, then, “ _Steve_.”

 

That got his attention. _Finally_. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong. He looked at you expectantly, letting his gaze trail over you to find why you wanted his attention so bad. When he caught sight of the blood in your hands and the liquid at your feet, his eyes widened and he sprung into action. 

 

He called your name in concern and took a few long strides to get to you.

 

“What the hell happened?” he questioned, gathering washcloths from the drawers behind you. He let a few fall onto the floor and carefully pulled you from the puddle so that you wouldn’t slip. Then, he placed one on your open palms and you watched in morbid fascination as the white fabric stained red. 

 

Steve knelt beside you and tried to clean up the puddle but cursed when he realized how hot the tea was. 

 

“Language,” you muttered under your breath.

 

He let out a laugh that wasn’t even that - more like a forced rush of exhaled air. The glass pieces from the mug were pretty big so it was easy to gather them into a small pile and throw them away. When he finished with that, he turned his gaze back on you and frowned. 

 

“Did you burn yourself?” 

 

You only nodded, wincing when you shifted your stance. You glanced down at your feet and realized that they were an angry shade of red and just the slightest bit swollen. 

 

He sighed and reached out to grab your hands. He lifted the cloth from your wounds and replaced the dirtied fabric with a new one. It stung when he pressed the towel into your grip and you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because of it.

 

“Think you can make the walk to the med bay?” he asked. 

 

A few stray tears slipped from your eyes and you let your head duck before he could notice. You only shook your head in response, fearing that your voice would cave under the weight of the situation. 

 

“Okay, that’s okay. How about a piggyback ride up there then?” his voice was so gentle, so sickly sweet that you had to bite down the sob clawing at the back of your throat. 

 

You nodded, still unable to trust the stability of your voice. 

 

He knelt before you, back to you with outstretched arms. The scene was so vulnerable that it became even harder to fight back tears. This was Captain America - a legend, a war hero, the man out of time who fought Thanos _and won_ \- kneeling before you just so he could carry your emotional ass to the med bay. It wasn’t like you and Steve weren’t good friends, but even now that didn’t take away the admiration you held for him. Pushing aside your embarrassment, you draped yourself over him and tried to avoid staining his shirt or skin with your still bleeding hands. He hoisted you up and kept a firm grip on the underside of your thighs as you made your way to the elevator. 

 

You figured that this was when _your_ grip on everything had finally given in to a loose hold and shaky fingers. 

 

It was all in the way he treated you. Steve just kept rubbing circles onto your skin with the pads of his thumbs. He had asked you what happened again, but when you didn’t answer he didn’t push. 

 

“It’s fine,” he muttered, voice something soft, “Tony can patch you up and I can make you another cup of tea.”

 

And then you couldn’t hold back anymore. You were quiet as the first few lines of tears began to fall, but eventually the sob trapped in your throat broke out and wracked the silent hallway. You leaned forward and let your forehead rest just a bit bellow the nape of his neck - more centered between his shoulders. Steve stilled and tensed, clearly concerned about the fact that you were crying. It just wasn’t something you did.

 

“Wait, hey. What’s wrong? Does it hurt that bad?”

 

You shook your head. _It wasn’t that._  How were you supposed to tell him that all the anguish was blossoming from _inside_. How were you supposed to explain that it was all sprouting in your lungs and curling around your veins. How were you supposed to explain that you couldn’t breathe and that it hurt in places hands couldn’t reach.

 

You hiccuped and continued to cry into his back. You wanted to curl your hands into fists, but knew that this would only worsen your condition. Pained noises kept falling from your trembling lips so you tried to smother them with his white t-shirt. It all just hurt so much - your head, heart, hands. 

 

“C’mon, doll, you gotta talk to me.”

 

The pet name just made the ache worse. Affection in moments of weakness drove you mad because they only softened you more. Steve was being so kind, so heart wrenchingly sincere, _so much like himself_ , that it made you hurt in a whole different way. 

 

You finally made it to the elevator once Steve realized that blood was starting to pool over the building’s floor. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze to remind you of his previous plea, before pressing the button that led to the med bay. 

 

You took in a deep, stuttering breath - then spoke.

 

“It’s just,” you started, then cringed when you heard how wrecked your voice sounded. _God this is embarrassing._ “I’m so _tired_. Between work and school and everything in between, theres just never time for me to stop and breathe.”

 

“If we need to cut back on hours, you know Tony will gladly-” he tried speaking, but you cut him off.

 

“It’s not that. I hardly go on missions with you guys anyways,” you keep sniffling and choking on hiccups that you thought had already passed. You wished you could just pull it together for five minutes so that delivering this story would be less humiliating. 

 

“Then...what’s wrong?”

 

The elevator dinged and the doors rolled open to reveal a slightly disheveled looking Tony Stark. Then again, when _didn’t_ he look a little messy? 

 

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted me that you’d been hurt and that Cap was helping you get here. I figured I’d just be ready for you guys,” he said. 

 

The thing you liked about Tony was that he never really asked questions when he understood it wasn’t his place to ask. You knew he took in your puffy eyes and flushed cheeks, understood that he knew you’d been crying. You saw the worry that nestled between his furrowed brows when he began tending to your cut palms and slightly burnt feet. Even then, the only thing he questioned was how you got the wounds and if you needed more pain medication. 

 

You appreciated the gesture more than Tony would ever know. 

 

“Alright kiddo, just make sure you stay off your feet for a few days and don’t do anything too strenuous with your hands. You can take the pills once every twelve hours but they’re pretty strong so they should last you all day. I’d still like to see you once every day so I can rewrap the wounds and make sure you’re healing alright.” 

 

You smiled when he reached out to ruffle your hair, “Thanks Tony.”

 

“No problem. I gotta go work on something in the lab with Peter so just call me if you need anything. See you guys,” he waved before disappearing behind the elevator doors. 

 

You breathed for a moment - let yourself settle and prepare for the conversation you were about to have. 

 

Steve hung back while Tony did his work. He tucked himself into a corner of the room, close enough to help if need be, but far enough allow you some distance. 

 

There was a weighted silence to the room before you finally decided to talk.

 

You sighed, “I spent my whole life - _working_ \- to make it to this point. I concealed my powers, made good grades, applied to different universities, _did everything I needed to_ so that I could finish what my parents expected of me. College had always been the goal. I spent so long just trying to make it in that when the acceptance letters started pouring in it was all...what now?”

 

Steve moved from his place against the wall to sit beside you on the edge of the bed. 

 

“And I think, well, I _thought_ that maybe joining the group and moving in here would help me find motivation to decide on something. Tony suggested a few things, Nat tried giving me some advice, even Parker - the child-genius bastard - talked to me about what I should do. None of it appealed to me though and now I’m here. My whole life lead up to college and even now that I’m one year away from my masters, I still don’t know if this is what I want to do.”

 

Your head hung forward and a frown tugged at your lips. You felt tears begin to burn at the edges of your eyes. Your elbows rested on your knees and you continued to curled in on yourself. 

 

“I was in my room doing homework and I just couldn’t stop myself from thinking about how shitty this whole situation is. I went into the kitchen wanting to calm myself down, but it made things worse and before I knew it the cup was broken and there was blood and tea all over the floor,” your hair fell in your face and you shook your head.

 

“I like school, I like saving people, I like contributing. But I’m just so unsure of everything and it’s frustrating. How am I supposed to protect Earth if I can’t even figure _myself_ out?”

 

There was a pause before you screwed your eyes shut and whispered, “ _I just want someone to tell me what to do_.”

 

Steve moved slowly, quietly. You hadn’t even realized he was reaching for you until his hands were in your hair, tentatively pushing some behind your ear. 

 

“I don’t think anyone can make that call except for you, doll.”

 

“But I _can’t_. The thing is that it’s not just this stuff that’s been hard for me it’s...”

 

“...It’s what?”

 

You held quiet. It was bad enough that he’d seen you break down. This was something you’d planned on burying with you - something you’d wanted to lock in a box with a lost key.

 

He called your name, “It’s what?”

 

This was something you’d never planned on getting out, but this was Steve. Steve who you trusted with your life. Steve who was staring at you with unwavering eyes and a questioning smile. 

 

“It’s,” you started with a sigh. You felt like you’d been doing that a lot lately. “I have depression. And anxiety. And it all really sucks because some weeks getting out of bed is a chore, showering is exhausting, even doing laundry gets to be too much.  We do those press conferences and I usually seem pretty collected, but most times I can’t stand being in my own skin because the crowds make me itch.”

 

There was another pause, one that felt a bit heavier than the rest. 

 

“I’m so fucked up,” you let out in a breathless chuckle. “Defender of the world with a brain that doesn’t produce enough dopamine.”

 

Steve shook his head. He kept brushing his fingers through your hair to help you relax. 

 

“Having a mental illness doesn’t make you unworthy. It doesn’t make you weak. If I’m being _completely_ honest, I think you’re one of the strongest people I know,” he muttered, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck. 

 

You grinned, something akin to shy - feeling heat rising to your cheeks. 

 

“I do wish you’d have said something earlier, though. I don’t know if you’d be interested in it but Tony hired therapists when this whole thing started. He figured that everyone needed a little help sometimes. We’ve all gone to see the therapists on sight, especially after bad missions. Sometimes Bucky and I go in the winter when the season gets to be a bit too much for us. Either way, we’re all here to support you. And in terms of everything else, I can’t tell you what to do with your life but I’ll help guide you as much as I can. Promise.” 

 

You finally looked up to meet Steve’s gaze, “Thank you.”

 

He shrugged, smiling, “Its nothing.”

 

“No seriously,” you said, reaching for his hand, careful not to hurt your own. You wanted him to understand how much you appreciated everything he’d done for you today. “ _Thank you_.”

 

He glanced at your entangled hands then up at you before giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, “You’re welcome.”

 

“Now, c’mon I think you need a break,” he stated, pulling you from your seat and helping you into the wheel chair Tony left for you. 

 

“I can’t, I still haven’t finished my work - remember?” you asked, looking up at Steve.

 

He grinned, “We’ll just ask Queens to do it. He’s a ‘child-genius bastard’ anyways.” 

 

You shook your head and laughed, “Don’t tell him I said that. If Tony heard me talk about him like that he’d kick me out.”

 

“Probably,” Steve chuckled as he brought you with him into the elevator. 

 

-

 

Turns out that Steve’s idea of a relaxing evening was take-out and a movie marathon. 

 

He took time to set everything up in the living room that was located on your floor. The coffee table was decked with steaming cartons of Thai food and small piles of movies. There were plenty of pastel blankets and throw pillows that he’d scattered across the couch. He even went out and got your favorite cupcakes from this bakery down the street. 

 

For the first movie, it’d been a sweet sort of chaos. It was all reaching forward to grab seconds and napkins and drinks. You’d payed enough attention to enjoy it, but between the ruffling blankets and the warm food your weren’t fully immersed in the film. This was a shame in itself because Steve’s first choice was one of your personal favorites, _Rebel Without a Cause._  

 

The second movie was when things finally started to settle. Steve popped in _Tangled_ , your all time favorite, and sat back against the couch with you. When it first started, you’d been completely swept in by the animated magic Disney created. Though you knew it to be annoying, you couldn’t help but mouth along the words each character spoke. You’d grown up on this film - watched it religiously,  could practically recite the entire thing line for line. That’s why, when Steve laughed during a part that didn’t necessarily call for it, you’d grown shy about your habit. 

 

“Sorry,” you muttered, sending him an apologetic smile. “I know it’s annoying.”

 

He waved you off, “No it’s not that. I’m just impressed because you actually know this whole thing word for word.”

 

You shrugged, cheeks still lightly flushed, “I watched it a lot growing up. She’s my favorite princess.”

 

“Well,” he muttered, leaning into the sofa cushion, “I think it’s cute.”

 

He gave you a once over, one that was full of something you couldn’t really place. The look in his eyes made you feel fuzzy on the inside though, and the compliment that just fell from his lips didn’t help the warmth blossoming in your chest. He draped his arm over the back of the couch and went back to watching the movie. 

 

You tried going back to focusing on the film - _you really did_. But your mind was busy buzzing with thoughts that (for once) weren’t self destructive. 

 

You turned to look at Steve, really look at him. He was beautiful. Steve Rogers being attractive wasn’t new information - Captain America was the poster boy for patriotism because of his backstory _and_ his pretty face. But the Steve in this moment was different than the Steve you’d known in others. He radiated strength, _power_. You’d seen this man in battle, knew how the muscles beneath his uniform looked when they were used for taking enemies out or saving innocents. You’d been there during team trips to the med bay, known his body when it was battered, bloodied, and bruised. You’d even seen the star spangled boy at publicity events, knew that in a suit and tie he was all cultural and classy. 

 

This Steve wasn’t the same though. Yes he was still strong beneath the plain tee shirt and sweats, but it all felt different somehow. He didn’t remind you of a super soldier that had veins, arteries, and capillaries pumped full with magic serum. The Steve with you was _human_. He always was, always had been, but sometimes it seemed like he reserved that vulnerability for certain people and places. Blonde boys had never really been your thing either, but you liked that Steve’s hair seemed to fit the rest of him - all gold and unbelievably bright. The one feature you always tended to linger on, though, was his eyes. 

 

They told you everything your telepathy didn’t need to. 

 

_Not that you’d ever use that power on someone without their knowledge or consent. Unless it were a bad guy in which case...you know what, it’s better not to get into that right now._

 

His eyes were this wonderful shade of blue - something akin to summer skies and baby’s breath. They were easy to read because of how the color would change depending on his mood. What was once a calm ocean sway could easily shift into an unforgiving whirlpool if he got worked up enough. 

 

Your eyes trailed down to his lips and before you could let yourself settle there for too long you forced your attention back to the movie. 

 

You didn’t want to startle Steve by completely crowding into his space, so you moved slowly - leaning further into the couch, then, closer to him. By halfway through the film you were almost pressed against his side. There was a blanket draped over both your laps and a pillow beneath your head. At some point, leaning into him became subconscious, something you only did because you were tired.

 

When the scene with the lanterns finally came on you found yourself singing along - words falling from your lips in a breathless melodic tune. 

 

“I didn’t know you could sing,” you heard Steve whisper. Well, you felt it more than heard it with how close he was. 

 

You shrugged, “It’s just relaxing. I like singing when I’m anxious or sad sometimes to help with the nerves.”

 

You both fell silent after this but Steve’s gaze still lingered on you - you felt it. 

 

You turned to him with a sleep heavy gaze. All the exhaustion that came with crying weighed heavily on your face. You figured that once you caught his eyes they would just flicker back to the screen, but he held your stare. He looked at you quizzically, like you were this intricate problem that he couldn’t seem to solve.

 

“What?” you mumbled. 

 

“Sometimes,” he said, voice barely there, “I wish I could read your mind.” 

 

Your eyes went wide at that, “Why?”

 

“So I could know if you feel about me the way I feel about you.”

 

And there it was - hanging in the air, swirling in the space between you. All those times you’d caught him lingering in doorways, all those brief brushes of knuckles while you walked side by side, all those moments he’d stood by you when you needed it most; they all unceremoniously fell into place. You felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner. Months of everything you’d wanted was so tangible you could finally reach out and grab it. 

 

So, you did. 

 

Slowly, _ever so slowly_ , you stuck out your hand to cup Steve’s face with your bandaged palm. He carefully leaned into the touch and you warmed at the gesture. 

 

Before you gave into anything though, you looked up at him and asked, “What is it _exactly_ that you feel for me, Rogers?” 

 

“I think you know, doll.”

 

“I’d like to be sure.”

 

“Read my mind and find out.”

 

You pulled back a bit at this but Steve caught your hand before you could go any further. 

 

“Are you sure?” you questioned hesitantly. 

 

“Mhm” he hummed, smiling. “Go ahead.” 

 

With uncertainty you let your eyes slip shut and focused on seeing into Steve’s mind. For a while there was nothing, it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the moment you were living. Then, all at once, you saw multiple bright bursts of color. Your telepathy also included the ability to read emotions through colors displayed in the mind. It was a mix of so many things that you chuckled before asking Steve to calm and settle on one thing. 

 

When he did, you had to sigh contentedly at the sincerity of his simple words. 

 

_I think that you’re everything._

 

“You know,” you muttered, eyes still shut, “I wish you could read my mind too.”

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“So you’d know that I think the same of you.” 

 

Finally his polite resolve fell and Steve let his hand come to rest on the small of your back. He crowded into your space and let his head hang forward. He kept pulling at you, tugging at you gently so that you could just be _closer, closer, closer._

 

You legs hooked over his left thigh and your hands hung around his neck. 

 

You sat like that for a moment, just breathing each other in. Adjusting to the newness of... _this_ , whatever it may be. 

 

“C’mere,” you muttered, giving in. Bringing him in to close the small gap. 

 

The first kiss was soft, a chaste press of lips that was barely there. It was all full of still found uncertainty and school crush jitters. Steve tasted vaguely of vanilla cupcake and buttercream frosting. His hands were still featherlight on your body and you could just barely grasp him at all.

 

The second kiss was more firm, a bright promise of something yet to come. Steve’s grip on you steadied and even though it stung a bit you found your hands settled on his shoulders. There was no more hesitation this time around - not when you were both warm skin and loosened nerves and gentle support. 

 

The third kiss - well, it’s better that you leave that with the end credits and midnight skies that filtered in through the skyline windows. That kiss was something only shadows should know. 

 

No one could magically, instantaneously fix you. Your problems would never fall, all at once, from existence. There was no way for someone to take away all the pain rooted in your chest. But, you knew that eventually it would get better. Because it had to. _Because it always did._

 

And it was in this moment - in this mangled mix of flushed faces, low lighting, and unspoken reassurances, that you knew things would be okay. 

 

_You would be okay._

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always feedback is always appreciated! Love you all, stay safe and most importantly happy! xoxo (ps don't forget to follow @stormysirens on insta!)


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